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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29283897">consequently a claim to be nice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee'>fangirl_squee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Friends at the Table (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, spoilers up to the kingdom game episodes of partizan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:07:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29283897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Clem, I-” Gucci sighs deeply. “I like <i>nice</i> girls.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clementine Kesh tries to be Nice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gucci Garantine/Clementine Kesh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>consequently a claim to be nice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I must admit,” says Gucci, “I am still somewhat surprised that you’re here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem leans on the railing of Fort Icebreaker, trying to angle her body in a casual yet appealing way. She so rarely gets a chance to see Gucci alone since they came to Fort Icebreaker and she intends to make the most of it, focussing her charm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She tilts her head, not too much just a little, to indicate a high society level of interest in what Gucci is saying. “Why wouldn’t I be?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” says Gucci slowly, “It’s a little at odds with becoming Princept.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really,” says Clem, “I mean, I suppose it’s a little… it’s a more diverted way to go about it, but the end is the same.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci gives her an odd look. “Seriously? Even after all this, you would want to go back to- you really think that at the end of this there’s even </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> a Princept?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem frowns. “Why wouldn’t there be?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because we’re here to make Partizan’s future different than its past?” says Gucci.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem’s frown deepens. “I don’t see why that has to mean there’s no Princept. The… I would alter the structure of, of- of the authority, of course, to make room for Millenium Break’s… the council structure of it, but I don’t think there’s really a call to remove it entirely.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci huffs. “Of course you don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> supposed to mean?” says Clem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” says Gucci, in a tone where it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> something.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a tone that has always gotten under Clem’s skin. Clem crosses her arms.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t just- you really wouldn’t want there to be a Pricnept </span>
  <em>
    <span>at all</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” says Clem, “What if </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>could be- well, I would have asked you to be my- you could have been involved in it. In my being Princept.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci’s expression shifts, the corners of her lips quirking up into one of her dryer grin. “Oh, Clementine. I don’t think that ever would have… I mean you and I, it would have been far too much of a mess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem flushes hotly, looking down at her feet. It hadn’t been what she’d meant at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She barely even thought about Gucci in that way. She’d barely even sketched out a picture in her mind of how Gucci would have looked beside her throne. It wasn’t even as though she’d thought about ceremonies and celebrations further than the vague outline of colour schemes and floral arrangements and the loose structure of their days. It wasn’t anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still. She did so hate it when Gucci told her a thing couldn’t be done.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looks back up at Gucci. “Why not?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci lets out a breath, reaching into the pocket of her plush red coat to pull out a thin cigarette and a silver lighter. She flicks the lighter, taking a deep drag of the cigarette and looking out towards the water before she answers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clem, I-” Gucci sighs deeply. “I like </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice </span>
  </em>
  <span>girls.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wh - I'm nice!” says Clem indignantly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci gives her that look again, a smile without warmth, and takes another drag of her cigarette. “I think we’ve been friends for far too long for me to believe that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice,” says Clem, “Just because I- Well, you can’t expect me to be nice </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> the time, there’s a war on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“At least that’s a consistent excuse,” says Gucci, “There will always be a war on somewhere.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not an </span>
  <em>
    <span>excuse</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” says Clem, “I’m nice, I, I…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci huffs a laugh. Like her smile, it’s without its usual warmth. “If you can’t think of even one example I think that rather proves my point.” She stubs her cigarette out on the railing, turning away. “I’ll see you around Clementine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thinks Clem frantically at Gucci’s retreating back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, come back, I can think of something, I- I’m polite to the maids! I didn’t order the Apostalisian soldiers who were on board when we took Fort Icebreaker to be killed! I sit through Gur’s sermons and I don’t ever complain to them </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>fall asleep!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The door closes neatly behind Gucci, leaving Clem alone on the deck with the words still stuck in her throat. She looks down at the railing, her vision blurring as she stares at the dark circle where Gucci had put out her cigarette. Something bubbles in the pit of her stomach, a familiar sensation after she’s spoken to Gucci. The strong desire to prove her wrong, most likely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It would be easy, of course. After all, she’s already perfectly nice. She would just have to do it in such a way that Gucci </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticed</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her first idea is a little trickier to pull off than she’d thought. Despite the fact that he was constantly complaining about being short-handed, Leap is surprisingly reluctant to let her go on the next supply run with his fleet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Leap’s lens eye contracts and then expands. “Why are you so keen on helping all of a sudden?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Having ample supplies helps us all,” says Clem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah I guess,” says Leap, not sounding any more convinced. “You haven’t exactly seemed concerned about </span>
  <em>
    <span>us all</span>
  </em>
  <span> before this though.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem glares at him. “Have you been speaking to Gucci?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” says Leap, “Why, did the two of you break up or something?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We- I-” Clem splutters. “We did not- I don’t see why that’s even relevant. Is there- I expect there to be space for me during the next supply run.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She turns on her heel and walked out before Leap has a chance to reply.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Break up</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thinks Clem, her cheeks burning, </span>
  <em>
    <span>how absurd.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They weren’t- there was nothing to break up. The argument they were currently in the midst of was just a continuation of their youthful disagreements.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The supply run itself isn’t particularly exciting, but in Clem experience nice things were not usually very exciting. Sitting through her tutor’s lessons as a child had been nice. Keeping herself polished and neat in case of visitors had been nice. Nodding along through one of her mother’s speeches to the Kesh troops had been nice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At least with the supply run she got to move around and hit things, even if perhaps Millie was right in that she didn’t land quite as many blows as she took.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When they return to Fort Icebreaker and the supplies are sorted, Clem helps to open some of the crates. They turn out mostly to be full of seeds. Clem blinks down at the grains, trying not to seem too disappointed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, good,” says Sovereign, “Thisbe’ll like that. She’s been wanting something new to plant.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thisbe, thinks Clem, now she was… the big robot deer. One of Broun’s associates, which meant that Gucci </span>
  <em>
    <span>must </span>
  </em>
  <span>know her. Clem considers the seed, trays and trays of tiny packets on top of heavy sealed bags.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” says Clem, “I expect she’ll want to know about them right away. I’ll bring them down to her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You- You will?” says Sovereign. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> will? As in, yourself?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I- of course,” says Clem, as though she hadn’t been thinking of who amongst her small regiment of Kesh soldiers had free time in their roster.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After three tries on three different levels of For Icebreaker, Clem manages to find the hanger. It’s still in the process of being converted to an indoor farm, dirt in haphazard piles around the edges of the room. Clem looks at them for a moment before she begins unloading the various seed bags by the side of the door, which seems to take an excruciatingly long time. She grits her teeth. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> of her to do this. Nice things are often tedious and annoying and difficult.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You should not leave those there,” says a voice above her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem looks up, flinching at the sight of Thisbe looming above her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I- what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You should not leave those there,” says Thisbe again, “They will be too close to the sprinkler system.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem looks at the pile of bags she’s already unloaded. “But I- then where </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>they be?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thisbe points to the corner of the room, a few paces away from where Clem had put the furthest bag.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I- are you serious?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thisbe’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I rarely joke.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem rolls her eyes, huffing a breath as she begins to load the bags back onto the trolley. Thisbe watches her for a moment before stepping away, picking up one of the long tools that rests against the side of the room and setting about her own work. Clem glances at her every so often while she works, watching as Thisbe slowly digs one long, thin hole after another.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After she’s done, Thisbe is still working. She’s at the half-way point of the room, rows and rows of thin, shallow holes behind her. Clem clears her throat. Thisbe does not look up, and Clem huffs a breath. How does Gucci expect her to be nice when everybody on the ship is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>rude</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve finished with the seeds,” says Clem. “So unless there was anything else…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thisbe doesn’t look up. “You could sow them. I have already prepared much of the soil.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem frowns. “Sow them? I- I’m afraid I never had much interest in embroidery.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thisbe stops, looking up at Clem. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>sew</span>
  </em>
  <span>. In the ground.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” says Clem, “Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looks towards the seeds. Perhaps there’s some sort of thread in the bags, or she’s supposed to unpick the fabric of the bags and use that…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thisbe tilts her head. “I will show you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sowing seeds, it turns out, involves taking individual tiny, fragile-looking seeds and placing them in an evenly-spaced line in the long thin hole Thisbe has dug, and then carefully covering them over. Thisbe gives her a little shovel and turns back to completing the work of digging the long thin holes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem lets out a long sigh. Another thing with being </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice:</span>
  </em>
  <span> it often involved long, boring tasks, like attending one of her mother’s parties and having to dance with the officer of the moment, or practicing her calligraphy for official letters. The sowing, at least, is neither as boring as a night of listening to an officer talk about himself nor is it as frustrating as getting the flourishes on her k’s just right. Instead, her thoughts begin to drift, the irritation of her day leaving her by inches as she works. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She barely even feel the ache in her arms until she reaches the last row. It’s almost startling to realise that she’s done. Thisbe is still there, in the process of threading the watering system along each row.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem swallows. “I- It’s finished. It’s also quite late, I imagine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thisbe looks up at her, considering her for a moment. “It is.” She pauses. “I can complete this task alone if you require rest.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-” She presses her lips together as she straightens, her back protesting as though she’s spent hours in her mech. “Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thisbe nods. Clem hesitates, feeling oddly as though there was something else she ought to say. Something nice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for your assistance,” says Thisbe. “There will be more to do as they begin to grow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“More sowing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” says Thisbe, “But there are other things we can do, to help them grow in this environment. It is not their ideal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem had no idea crops could be so relatable.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I see,” says Clem, “Well, I- perhaps I could… assist. Some other time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I will notify you when your help is required,” says Thisbe.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The words themselves are a dismissal but they lack the sting Clem would normally feel at such a thing. Perhaps she is simply too tired. Clem looks out at the dirt, the even lumps of earth proof of her work. It’s nice, in it’s own way, to see it. So often her work seems to evaporate the moment she stops focussing on it, but this will be here even if she never has to bother with it again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Although, perhaps she might like to. It would be the nice thing to do, after all, to help an associate of Gucci’s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I would appreciate that,” says Clem. She turns, pausing in the doorway. “Goodnight Thisbe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodnight Operant Clementine,” says Thisbe.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t mention her work with Thisbe the next day. Gucci had heard about her helping with the supply run, of course, raising her eyebrows at Clem about it. Her gaze itches at Clem’s skin even after Gucci leaves. There has to be other ways to be nice. Ways Gucci wouldn’t expect.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Animals, Clem decides Gucci likes animals. She’d had a dog growing up, Clem remembers, there had been a photo in her dorm room of it and everything. And she’s taken care of her own horses, talking at length about bonding with them or some such nonsense. So. Animals.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, the only animals on board Fort Icebreaker are the handful of seagulls that land on the top deck. Clem watches they cluster together in an alcove, fluffing up against the wind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she think</span>
  <em>
    <span>, of course</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll help warm them up</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>During the colder months, Gucci had a variety of blankets and coverings for her horses, and her dog had had something too. A little jacket, Clem thinks, a bright red rain jacket that had matched one of Gucci’s. The problem would be finding enough little rain jackets to fit all the seagulls.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She made her way down to the cargo hold, searching through the crates. Surely there had been something stolen from somewhere that would work. Doll clothes, perhaps, or maybe she could have someone tailor rubber gloves to fit them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s in the middle of considering whether the crate of leather bags could somehow be repurposed (perhaps made into little boots?) when she’s interrupted by Sovereign and Millie. They both look as surprised to see her as she feels to see them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clementine-” begins Sovereign.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not supposed to be down here,” says Millie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can go wherever I like,” says Clem, “Besides, I’m looking for something.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For what?” says Millie, leaning over the peer into the crate Clem is in front of.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Something to help the birds,” says Clem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Millie blinks, looking at Clem. “I’m sorry?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because they’re cold. It’s-” She huffs a breath. “I’m trying to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Millie opens her mouth, shutting it as Sovereign puts a hand on her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think that’s the best way to be… nice,” says Sovereign slowly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem frowns, looking up at him. “Then what is? I’ve already helped with getting supplies and- other things.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She finds that she doesn’t quite want to tell them about helping Thisbe. They probably won’t believe her, and they’ll make her go all the way down to get Thisbe to try to prove it and- anyway. What she does to be nice is none of their business.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” says Millie, “You could like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally </span>
  </em>
  <span>release us from being prisoners. Since you never actually freed us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re all equals now,” says Clem, waving a hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” says Millie, “So put it in writing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ver’million…” says Sovereign.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sovereign Immunity</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” says Millie. “I don’t see what’s wrong with making it official. Our jail sentences sure were.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Official…” says Clem. Official things came with ceremonies, celebrations that grabbed attention and demanded the attendance of certain people. “Well. I don’t see why not.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You… don’t?” says Sovereign.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” says Clem, “It will however take a few days to pull everything together-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Or you could just literally type up some bullshit pardons on your datapad right now,” says Millie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I could,” says Clem, frowning, “but I… wouldn’t you prefer something with a little more style?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really,” says Millie, “Unless this is your way of trying to get out of doing this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No I-” Clem presss her lips together. On one hand, this would work so much better if Gucci could </span>
  <em>
    <span>see </span>
  </em>
  <span>her signing whatever document looked official enough to be a pardon. On the other hand, if Millie thought she was backing down, no amount of ceremony would get Gucci on her side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” huffs Clem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sovereign helps with the wording. He seems oddly familiar with how to write an official Kesh pardon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I helped your mother do some, from time to time,” says Sovereign.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My mother has never pardoned anyone,” says Clem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” says Sovereign, “No, she never ended up following through on them. There was always something that- well. She always preferred a long game to a right ending.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I see,” says Clem, although she has no idea what he’s talking about.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She signs each one with a flourish, the curling on the ‘k’ perhaps not the most steady but looking more or less official.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There,” says Clem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s it?” says Millie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” says Clem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So like, I’m not technically under Kesh rule right now, in any way?” says Millie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” says Clem, “We’re all part of Millennium Break.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Great,” says Millie, and punches Clem in the face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blow hits Clem mostly on her cheek but it’s enough to send her sprawling against some of the crates, straw packaging getting in her hair. Millies waves at her as she leaves, ignoring Sovereign’s not-as-stern-as-it-should-be chastisement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This,” says Clem later, to Gucci, “is all your fault. People were much nicer to me before I was nice to them."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She lets out a hiss as Gucci presses the icepack to her eye, trying to focus on the ache in her cheek rather than the steady warmth of Gucci’s hand on her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know that what you did was </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” says Gucci, “I think it’s just… the right thing to do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the same thing,” says Clem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really,” says Gucci, “Not most of the time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem huffs a breath, her gaze skittering from Gucci’s face to the way the fabric of her shirt slipped to reveal her collarbone, to her bright red nailpolish. Despite the icepack, her cheeks felt hot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you wanted to be nice at all,” says Gucci, “I thought you said it had no place in a time of war?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem huffs. “Yes, well. I suppose I’m just… just drawn to being nice. I couldn’t help it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci laughs, the icepack slipping a little against Clem’s cheek. “Of course. Clementine Kesh, philanthropist.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I could be,” says Clem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe,” says Gucci. She pauses. “You couldn’t be that and be Princept too, though.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I could,” says Clem, “If I were Princept I could do what I liked.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you were Princept you would have to follow the rules like every other Princept,” says Gucci, “Or your mother would have you assasinated.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No she wouldn’t,” says Clem, her voice coming out a little unsteady</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right,” says Gucci, “She would just manipulate you into doing what she wanted instead.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-” Clem swallows. “That’s why I wanted- that’s why I would have you as my advisor and not her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Since when do you listen to my advice?” says Gucci, smiling a little.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem’s stomach twists. All that work of being nice and Gucci hadn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She looks down at her lap, her hands twisting together.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci frowns. “Clem?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-” Clem stands, stepping around Gucci to head for the door. “I apologise, I’d needed elsewhere, an appointment, excuse me-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She walks quickly, turning down one corridor and then another, barely thinking other than wanting to get as far away from Gucci’s searching gaze as possible. Being nice. What an absolute con. What a waste of her time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She can hear Gucci coming fast behind her and Clem quickens her pace, stopping short in front of a wide rolling door. When she peeks inside, she immediately spots Thisbe, her tall body bent over familiar lines of dirt. She looks up as Clem stepped inside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello,” says Thisbe, “I do not currently require assistance.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I- Perhaps I could assist anyway?” says Clem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Anything to keep her inside the room, just until Gucci had passed by.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thisbe tilts her head. “Perhaps. I am planting a new crop in this section. The holes I require are deeper.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I could do that,” says Clem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A small section of dirt had been cordoned off, a handful of ragged-looking trees waiting on a nearby trolley.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Will these really grow in here?” asks Clem skeptically.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” says Thisbe, “I would prefer to try than to give up before I have begun.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem swallows around the sudden ache in her throat. “Yes, I- I see.” She clears her throat. “And, uh, how deep, for the holes?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thisbe watches her dig one and then nods, turning back to her own work. Clem digs one hole, and then another, the soil giving was easily under her shovel. Gucci surely must have passed by now, but still. No sense in leaving such a simple task half-finished.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s on the second-to-last hole when she hears the door behind her open.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem frfreezesoze, looking up to see Gucci picking her way through the rows of green shoots towards her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m allowed to be here,” snaps Clem. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t say you weren’t,” says Gucci, “I’m just surprised that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>is where you are.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m- I don’t see why,” says Clem, “I’m here all the time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci looks towards Thisbe.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Operant Clementine has been helping with the farming,” says Thisbe.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci raises her eyebrows at Thisbe. “She </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clementine</span>
  </em>
  <span> has? With </span>
  <em>
    <span>farming</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” says Clem, taking her irritation out on the hole she’s digging. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>helping</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is she?” says Gucci.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thisbe pauses. “She is passible, under direction. She is better at physical labour than expected.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I… certainly wouldn’t have expected it, no,” says Gucci.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” snaps Clem. Her cheek throbs. “You are- sometimes you’re just like the rest of them. Any time I try to do something they just- just- just </span>
  <em>
    <span>stare</span>
  </em>
  <span> at me, just waiting for me to give up, as though me wanting to help the group that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> helped to create on the ship that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> helped to take control of is </span>
  <em>
    <span>news</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just…” Gucci lowers he voice, stepping forward. “It’s just not the kind of thing I would have expected you to like.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I do,” snaps Clem. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looks down, to where one of the potato plants is just beginning to push through the earth. She usually wants Gucci to look at her, but right now it feels too much, overwhelming to have Gucci’s full attention on her. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do,” she says again, “It’s… I don’t know. I like to do it and I don’t particularly care to have credit for it. People make such a fuss otherwise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci’s boots step closer to her’s. Clem holds herself very still, flinching as Gucci’s fingertips touch her shoulder. She looks up, bracing herself, but whatever she expected in Gucci’s expression isn’t there. Her gaze is warm on Clem, a smile hovering at the corners of her lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clem swallows, searching for words to keep Gucci looking at her like that. “I… I’m helping. It’s- it’s nice, to help.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A smile blooms on Gucci’s face in earnest. “You are.” She huffs a laugh. “You truly are always a surprise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She leans forward and Clem holds her breath, not letting it out until their lips finally meet. Her lips are gentle on Clem’s, her hand on Clem’s cheek. Clem reaches up, touching the back of Gucci’s hand, feeling the warm dirt from her fingers transfer to Gucci’s skin. Gucci leans back, just far enough for Clem to bask in her expression, her hand still on Clem’s cheek.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well what do you know?” says Gucci, “I guess you are something of a nice girl after all.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose I am,” says Clem. She pauses. “Sometimes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gucci huffs a laugh, the tone of it holding all the warmth to it that Clem could ever need, even in the cold of Fort Icebreaker. It curls in Clem’s chest, settling there like Gucci settles against her as they stand close together in the shade of the ragged, unplanted trees. There is no ceremony to it, no prestige, nothing that suggests the position of the Princept in their future.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In a moment, Thisbe will interrupt, reminding Clem on the hole still left to be dug and the tree she is yet to help plant. In a moment, Gucci will laugh, and step back, and allow Clem to convince her to help with the trees. In a moment, the rest of their lives will return, with all the expectations that entails.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But those are the moments yet to come. For now, Clem wouldn’t change a single thing.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>come say hi: mariusperkins on most places</p></blockquote></div></div>
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